The Lines We Cross
by BelleLitteraire
Summary: A story of the lost moments of 1x02 and 03 (Proceed with Caution / All In) from Evan's POV


_A/N: I realize that Evan/Cat shippers represent a tiny fraction compared to Vincent/Cat shippers, and that all I might be getting is heartbreak in the end. I like Vincent, but I favor the underdog just a little bit more! Ep 6 just confirmed that, for me, Evan is a total optimist and he doesn't give up—even when Cat forgets about him—and I really like that about his character. _

_For a list of my other Evan stories, visit my profile. I'll be attempting to fill in missing moments in ep order. Thanks to those who took the time to post lovely reviews and to those who put me on their author alerts—I really appreciate it!_

_(Song lyrics credit: "Sky Blue and Black" by Jackson Browne)_

* * *

Evan's commute was not going well. The subway expansion program that, to him, seemed to be going on for years, derailed his plan to get to the lab early. A subway construction blast on East 72nd and Second Avenue caused some minor damage and forced a street closing, and that meant that the station he had been re-routed to was jam packed with commuters during morning rush hour. Two Express trains that had stopped at the station were crammed with passengers like cows in a cattle truck, and the expressions that many of those New Yorkers wore resembled animals that were being transported to slaughter. All Evan saw as he tried to jockey for a space in one of the railcars were people who looked resigned, grumpy, uncomfortable, or just blankly lost in whatever music they were plugged into on their portable devices. Evan stepped back onto the platform and looked at his phone for the time. "Damn it," he muttered, and texted his assistant Morrissey. _Running late. Can u get powder analysis started on GParker case? Check case file on my desk._

Within a couple of minutes, Morrissey texted back:_ Will do._

As yet another Express train screeched away, too full of passengers to accommodate any more, Evan thought that there was at least one person he could count on.

* * *

His morning commute to the lab was actually an extension of a workday that started late last night. He had already gone through a harrowing day and finally arrived home, eating the first meal he'd had since breakfast. His uncomplicated plan to then go straight to bed was thwarted when he got a call to a crime scene in Midtown. An hour later, he arrived at the back alley of On Pointe Dance Studios, and found Joe already on the scene—a cacophony of hysteria that he was trying to contain. He was in a foul mood, waving his arms about as he barked at officers to cordon off the area and push the media wolves and curious onlookers off to a more respectable distance. Already crime technicians were taking photographs and searching for fingerprints, and Joe took his frustration out on them to hurry with evidence sweep. Evan had to step in and tell him to back off a bit, let his team do their jobs, and that he'd have a preliminary report for him in due course. With a conciliatory look and hands upraised, Joe stepped backward and called Dispatch to get the next detectives on the rotation to be assigned point to the case.

While Evan pulled on blue latex gloves, Morrissey briefed him on the essentials. The victim was a young woman, late teens/early 20s, apparently had fallen from a rooftop height that caused her to suffer a broken back and extensive bruising.

Joe stalked over. "The detectives on point are on the way. What do you have for me?"

As a rule, Evan did not offer definitive information at the crime scene because he hesitated to jump to false conclusions without examining the body and running pathological and toxicological tests in his lab first. But he could tell from Joe's body language that he'd continue to prowl and hover until he got something. Evan could at least tell him what this _wasn't_: "I'm ruling out accidental death. This is either a suicide or a homicide."

"Fine. Find me the minute your guys are done," Joe gritted out.

**x – x**

Evan paused in the middle of calibrating the digital inclinometer when Tess arrived. "God, I can never have a life on this job!" she griped.

He smirked. "Were you on a date?"

"What makes you say that?" she retorted defensively.

"You're wearing earrings, you smell like vanilla, and your hair's all…styled."

"Oh, shit, I better take these off before Joe sees them…." she muttered and walked towards one of the squad cars.

Cat, on the other hand, did not look so pretty. She looked as though she'd already gone dumpster diving on her own. Her jeans were smudged with dried mud and she was using a squad car's side mirror to wipe streaks of dirt from her face. "Who are you making yourself so pretty for?" he teased. He was suddenly conscious of his two-day stubble and the dark circles under his tired eyes and he smiled. _What a good-looking pair we make,_ he thought facetiously. As he turned away to make some calculations on fall rate against the studio building, he overheard Tess say, "Would you guys just get it over with already?" and he couldn't help the grin that spread on his face.

* * *

_Love triangles never work out, do they?_

Evan cast a sidelong glance at Morrissey, whom he knew was listening in on his phone conversation with Cat. Evan couldn't help messing about with her (she was such an easy target). And while he was half joking when he said he just wanted to impress her, he also knew that Morrissey was aware there was a grain of truth to Evan's statement. After reporting Morrissey's discovery of lily pollen, he heard his quiet assistant clear his throat and fix a glare at him above the microscope he was looking into. "So did Detective Chandler think find my findings were helpful?" he asked when Evan hung up.

* * *

The week did not seem to be getting any better. The thin canary yellow envelope lay atop the pile in his mail bin and Evan recognized the markings immediately. The top left corner of the envelope read NEW YORK STATE ASSOCIATION OF COUNTY CORONERS & MEDICAL EXAMINERS. As Evan reached for a letter opener, he tried to recall whether his certification was up to date—he was almost anal about keeping his information current as he didn't want to give the board any reason to revoke his working visa. His frown grew deeper as he read that there were questions about the paperwork being filed from his office and that as a result, his lab was now subject to an inspection.

**x – x**

The upcoming visit from the MEA gnawed at Evan. He called Morrissey to his office and showed him the letter.

"Know anything about this?"

"What?" Morrissey took the paper and read it, his face reddening as he absorbed the contents of the notice. "I…I don't know…I thought I was filing the paperwork correctly."

"Well, apparently not, because now we're up for inspection. And you know what that means—demerits if there's anything found suspect or lacking." Morrissey licked his lips nervously and Evan almost felt sorry for him. "Why didn't you ask me if you weren't sure about what you were supposed to be sending in?"

Morrissey shook his head and looked at his shoes. "I thought I could handle everything. I guess I haven't been concentrating on what I was doing well enough. Poor excuses, I know."

"A failed inspection on top of sloppy paperwork's not going to make us look good." Evan's tone of voice was even but weighted.

"I…I'll hand in my resignation."

"I'm not going to accept it until we see how this inspection pans out. You're going to clean up the mess, Morrissey. So I'm putting you responsible for doing just that—and doing it thoroughly."

* * *

The next morning, Evan got visitors, but they weren't from MEA. Bradford and Curtis from Internal Affairs came to Evan's office and he inwardly groaned. He hated it when he was put in the middle of internal investigations—especially as they concerned his colleagues in the precinct. Fortunately they didn't happen too often, but he was actually dumbstruck to learn that IA was asking him to personally perform the autopsy on a victim in his mid-20s, struck and killed by an off-duty detective. That detective was Catherine Chandler. IA wanted this case prioritized ahead of any other case in the docket.

Mental fatigue, worry about the upcoming inspection, and disappointment in his assistant were now compartmentalized. Evan dialed Cat's cell. "Hey. Feel like getting together?"

**x – x**

That evening, Evan met Cat at a watering hole frequented by blue on off hours. It was about 8:30 PM, but the crowd was unusually thin for that time of night. When they came in, the bartender nodded his head and paused in the middle of wiping down the bar. He motioned across with his hand to indicate they had their choice of booths.

Evan slid into one side of the booth, as Cat eased off her jacket, threw it on her side, and then slipped in right next to Evan. He was surprised that she chose to sit beside him instead of across from him, but he was not complaining. "What's going on, sweetheart?"

Cat stiffened and pursed her lips. "Evan, I'm not in the mood for your jokes right now…."

"I'm really not messing about. I'm sincerely concerned. How in the world do you have IA on you? What happened?"

Cat wrung her hands, rubbing them as though she were washing them underneath a running sink. She spoke hurriedly, in a rush to get a confession out, but her voice was tight with emotion. "I honestly didn't see the bicyclist. I wasn't speeding, I swear, but he just came out of nowhere and I hit him. But when I got out of the car to check on him, he actually attacked me and tried to mug me." She turned to look at him, tears pooling in her eyes. "Yet I feel awful that he's dead. Joe wants me to see the department shrink."

The waitress came by and asked, "The usual for you guys?"

Evan nodded and turned back to Cat. "You do seem really shaken up. I know it was a terrible accident, Cat. You mustn't blame yourself—remember _he_ intended to rob _you_. It should be a straightforward autopsy and your case will be an open and shut." He reached for her hand and held it to stop her continuous squeezing.

Cat looked at him. "You believe me, right?"

Evan pressed her hand in both of his palms. Her fingers were so cold, and he clenched them tight to warm them. "I don't think you'd lie to me, so yes, I believe you."

"What if…what if in your post-mortem you found out that it might not be as open and shut? What would you do?"

Evan tilted his head so he could look at her, but her head was bowed. "Why would it be anything but self-defense?"

She turned to face him with a pleading look. "I'm just asking, what would you do? Would you cross a line to protect someone you care about? Like a loved one, or a friend? Do you think that a lie can be measured as something small or is there no such thing as a white lie?"

"I don't get what you're trying to say, Cat." When she didn't answer, and pulled her hand away to take a sip of the beer the waitress deposited at their table, he continued. "Listen, I'm a scientist. In my world it is either black or white. That's what's beautiful about science—you can't make up the facts." He took a sip of his own beer. "My office has come under suspicion and I just got notice that the MEA is going to pay me a visit. Apparently we haven't been filing the proper documentation on our cases."

Cat swiped the tears from her cheek. "Oh, Evan, you have nothing to worry about! You run the tightest lab I'd ever seen."

"It's Morrissey, actually. All the paperwork he's submitted over the past few months has been either incomplete or just sloppily done. I have absolutely zero tolerance for such negligence."

Cat weaved her arm around his. "I'm sorry. Forget what I said about crossing lines. You do what you need to do—whatever the facts tell you. I don't ever want you to compromise your principles. And I'm confident that you're going to get through that inspection with flying colors."

**x – x**

Back in his apartment that night, Evan thought about what Cat said, and a seed of doubt was planted in his head. He couldn't imagine why she would be bringing up the possibility that there was foul play on her part in her attempted mugging. As he sat on the edge of his bed and set his alarm, he accidentally hit the radio button. The melancholic piano melody of "Sky Blue and Black" came on and Evan paused when Jackson Browne crooned his second verse:

_Where the touch of a lover and the soul of a friend begins  
There's a need to be separate and a need to be one  
And a struggle neither wins_

He slipped under the covers and thought about her hand in his earlier that night. Before he drifted off to sleep he thought about how that little hand turned from cold to warm in his palms.

* * *

Something was not right. Evan was recording the results of the autopsy on Cat's mugger, and Cat was in the lab as he was documenting his findings. Technically she wasn't supposed to be, but she had been anxious, and Evan indulged her. She had wanted to approach the body, but Evan told her that if he was going to let her in his lab while he was doing this examination, she was going to have to stay right by the door. Duly chastised, Cat crossed her arms and waited, but with all of the patience of a coiled spring on the verge of release. There was no way the wounds, bruising, and the bones broken on this body could have resulted from a fender impact, a fall on pavement, and the defensive blows of Cat. This guy looked like he'd been hurled at a brick wall with the force of a firing cannon.

Joe's arrival at the lab was timed perfectly. "So what am I telling Internal Affairs?"

Evan could feel Cat's eyes on him, and her words from last night at the bar replayed in his head.

_Would you cross a line to protect someone you care about? Like a loved one, or a friend? Do you think that a lie can be measured as something small or is there no such thing as a white lie?_

In the seconds that Cat and Joe waited for a reply, the staunch principles Evan held started to waver when he saw Cat's pretty face creased with an unease that he knew only he could alleviate. There was no other answer for Joe and he clicked his pen. "That it was self-defense." Evan then saw relief flood Cat's face and a burden of worry lift from her shoulders.

* * *

The first of two scheduled visits from MEA consisted of an interview and a review of all the records and files that Evan had been keeping over the last year, dating all the way back when Morrissey was hired. Morrissey appeared so unsure and unsteady through the interview, responding to questions with nervous laughter that Evan wanted to shake him. Evan explained that he should shoulder part of the blame—Morrissey lacked proper training from him, and ultimately the fault lay with him for not responsibly overseeing this part of his duties as Medical Examiner.

The upshot of the interview came rapidly. Morrissey was asked to resign and Evan was left with a caseload that was already crushing.

* * *

The lab inspection was coming up. Evan decided that he wasn't going to add more pressure on himself and that he was going to take one case at a time. If things fell behind, well, then the search and selection for a new assistant ME would have to speed up. Having finished the autopsy on an immigration judge's murder case for Wollansky and his new partner (he seemed to be going through them like daily newspapers), Evan set to task on cleaning the lab—more thoroughly now that the ME inspector was due to arrive within the hour. And what better way to make cleaning up less of a chore than to set the task to rock music? He cranked up the stereo and started rocking out, all the while sanitizing, rinsing, and thoroughly wiping down every square inch of floor, countertop, and finally the entire surface and runnel of the autopsy table. The music was so loud that he didn't hear the lab door open, and there stood Cat, an amused grin on her lips.

**x – x**

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave the lab and make your files available again to me, Dr. Marks," the no-nonsense inspector announced.

"Okay. How much time do you need?"

"All day, if that's what it takes."

"And where am I to go while you're in my lab and in my office?"

"I'm sure you'll find another place to be that's not too far away," he said, as he set his briefcase down and took his jacket off. "And keep your phone on you."

"All right, then." Evan headed back to his office to get his leather jacket. Maybe he could do some digging around the police impound.

* * *

Evan pushed his fists into the pockets of his lab coat. "I am not touching that."

Cat held a plastic baggie that contained a wet wad of chewing tobacco in a plastic cup. "Please, Evan?"

"It's not your case! It's Wollansky's!" He turned away. "I don't even want to know how you came up with that piece of evidence. It can't have come by the book."

Cat rushed around and stood in front of him. "I will make it up to you, I promise. One tiny, tiny little DNA test is all I need."

Evan rolled his eyes.

"And a results comparison to check if there's a match on any of the DNA from the car. Please?"

Evan sighed audibly and took the baggie. He could not resist Cat when she implored him like that. The lines were just getting blurrier and blurrier.

* * *

It had been a long week. Evan was tired, but not yet ready to head home. He brought a bottle of whiskey into his pristine lab, rolled up his shirtsleeves, and poured himself a measure. He had gone through a range of emotions this week: regret for losing his colleague, nervousness about the inspection, worry about Cat, and now relief that he passed the scrutiny. He kicked off his shoes and propped his feet on the autopsy table—something he had not ever before considered doing before the inspection. In fact there were a number of things he'd done over the past week that made him really think about why he was compromising his principles. Nothing seemed black and white anymore—all he saw was mink hair that swayed like smooth silk, hazel eyes, and glossy pink lips. He swallowed a mouthful of whiskey and felt it burn a swath down his throat to his stomach as he pulled out his phone to dial Cat.

**x – x**

Evan pressed "End" on his cell phone. She'd hung up before he had a chance to ask her if he could cash in on her promise to make it up to him for testing the chewing tobacco. It was a little lonely toasting the end of a pressure-filled week, so he got up and turned the radio on. Jackson Browne was serenading him again, and this time he was at the poetic end of his song.

_You're the hidden cost and the thing that's lost in everything I do…  
But that's the way love is  
That's the way love is…_


End file.
